


looks innocent enough, doesn't it?

by pathofcomets



Category: WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Internal Conflict, Love Conquers All, Mutant Powers, Psychological Trauma, Romantic Soulmates, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29409321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pathofcomets/pseuds/pathofcomets
Summary: He wakes to the motion of her thumb against his chest, calming circles over where his heart would be, if he had one, a reminder of him being alive. His head resting in her lap, the smile on her face when seeing him awake so divine that for a second, Vision can forget all about what he was doing, what was going on.[OR Wanda and Vision have a conversation, post ep. 6]
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 17
Kudos: 141





	looks innocent enough, doesn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> Just a take on how I imagine things to go immediately post ep-6 of Wandavision. (I expect it to be way more chaotic than I've made it, but I'm the hopeless romantic here). I'm in the justice for heartbroken and desperate Wanda gang ~

“Pietro,” Wanda says, her voice high pitched and cracking with accent around his name.

Tommy and Billy look at her, look at their uncle, look in the distance where now Billy knows their father is safe. Their mother is visibly distressed, so when she asks them to go home for the night, tuck in their beds, they do so without complaining. Even Pietro doesn’t have another smart and mean remark after that, and she’s too exhausted to make them all forget about it. She’s not sure it would work anymore, on her brilliant bright boys. They each hug her from a side, Billy’s words muffled against her stomach, a kiss at the crown of their heads. Pietro’s hand is all wrong at her shoulder, but warm nonetheless, and if she closes her eyes, she can pretend her life is as it was always supposed to be.

Vision is still passed out when she reaches him, and her hands are quick in mending him back together, bringing him back to her. She’s getting good at this: getting him back despite all odds. All the time, she hums the old Sokovian lullaby, that her mother used to put her and her twin to sleep, back when they were children and air raids would steal hours upon hours of their night. The old Sokovian lullaby that she sang to her new born twins: a home wrapped in comfort. The words are familiar on the top of her tongue, soothing her mind as she works, as she tries to come up with her next move.

She’s so tired she cannot even think.

He wakes to the motion of her thumb against his chest, calming circles over where his heart would be, if he had one, a reminder of him being alive. His head resting in her lap, the smile on her face when seeing him awake so divine that for a second, Vision can forget all about what he was doing, what was going on.

His eyes fly wide, scrambling out of her reach. She frowns, hand hanging in the air. Wanda tilts her head at him, quizzically.

“Do not,” he spits, and when her face flushes with hurt, he checks the tone of his voice. “Do not erase my memories again. You know I’ll just find out again.”

“Careful, my dear husband, that sounds a bit too close to a challenge.”

She leaves her hand drop in her lap, where it’s obvious to the both of them that it’s trembling. She cannot make it still, no matter how much she stares at it, wills it to.

“I just want the truth.”

“Trust me, you don’t.”

“Wanda.”

“Vision.”

“Please.”

One thing about Vision: he never asked something of her, not like this, entirely hers. She’s suddenly horrified, painfully aware that he knows now too, how much at her mercy he is. He does not understand, quite yet, what happened with the barrier, but now the only way to know is… well, from her.

He sits up, extending a hand to his wife, helping her up.

“Let’s talk about it,” he says, and at her defeated nod, his arms tighten around her body, and before she has time to say something else, to change her mind, they’re in the kitchen of their home. Everything around them is eerily silent. The city is still stuck on the pause; the twins asleep upstairs. In here, they’re just as they’ve ever been: domestic to the core, if just a bit strange for the neighbourhood.

Vision pushes a warm mug of tea in-between her fingers, because Wanda looks like she is about to collapse any second. They’re wearing something different from their earlier Halloween get-up, which he cannot pinpoint or recognize, but it doesn’t seem to bring any kind of joyful memory to his wife. The scarlet leather sticks to her like a second skin, and he just gets the ghost of a feeling that this is somewhat the right look, just the wrong setting.

“What is real here, Wanda?”

“Everything,” she sighs, and Vision frowns in surprise.

The tiny body of his wife, his soulmate, the love of his life trembles under his questioning, with exertion and, he realizes, with the strain of pumping life and purpose to an entire town. For a second, pride surges in his heart, overwhelming, knowing her to be strong, stronger than him, stronger than anyone else he’s ever met.

What an honour to die at her hand-

_Die?_

And the thought disappears as soon as it appeared.

“Are you alright, dear?”

“I am dead,” he says.

It’s not a question, and Wanda’s mug collapses to the floor, the hot tea seeping into her shoes, the ceramic spread across the floor. She brings it all up together again, perfect form and no sign of break, much like she’s mended things back again to perfection in this town for a while now. She tries to smile.

“No, you’re not.”

“Wanda,” he sighs, moving to place the mug back on the counter, because it looks like it’ll break soon again, this time from the pressure of her fingertips against it. She cannot meet his eyes. “I just need you to trust me.”

“You didn’t believe me when I told you I don’t know how we arrived here. So why should I?”

“Because you cannot carry on like this forever. And if your own husband, your _family_ cannot help you, then who can?”

She knows she’s being played. Direct confrontation didn’t work – it never works with her, because she just slams down and shut her opponent, so now he’s getting under her skin, in the way that only a person who truly loves her can do. What a terrible thing, to love and be loved in return. What a terrible thing, to be the one that loves more, so easily at the mercy of the person you’d do anything for.

“No one,” and Wanda stops, taking in a shaky breath, having to lean against the kitchen counter; Vision struggles with his upset, wanting to reach out for her, help her stand. “No one bothered to even _think_ if I am okay, let alone make sure of it. And I’m not and I don’t think I will ever be without you. So please, Vis, don’t make me continue, because I’ll lose you,” she stops, before she allows the _again_ to slip out, because it would make it real, “and I won’t be able to bear it.”

“Wanda, love-”

She sobs at the pet name, closing her eyes, trying to stifle her want to erase this all, to bury the pain and the knowledge and keep on going, smiling and living the perfect little life no one thought she was worthy of, before. It chips away at her, holding together the larger barriers of Westview, and things are beginning to stop making sense, even for her. She’s tired of keeping it together, but she’s even more tired of keeping it a secret from the only one other person who could potentially understand.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” she says, and meets his eyes for the first time.

Because if he’ll hate here, that’s where it will show. But Vision just stares at her, torn between wanting to comfort his obviously distressed wife and finding the truth, for the sake of the thousands of people who are stuck in a sitcom they didn’t audition for.

“I love you,” Vision says, but in this context it sounds like a threat, nothing like a certainty.

Love that could slip away. Once, which now feels like ages ago, she held his life in her palms and he promised nothing she’ll do will ever hurt him. She is painfully aware that all the time she played house, she’s been twisting a knife in his heart and his trust in her at the same time. Now the curtain has fallen and her story comes crushing down.

“The world is safe, all is done, threat dealt with – at the price of your life, Vis. It’s not something I agreed to pay or let go or give away.”

His face twists, confusion for a couple of seconds. It’s hard to comprehend the reality of his death, when he’s here standing and alive – and a husband and a father. He is living on stolen time.

“What did you do, Wanda?”

And here it is: the horror, the blooming of the hate. Just because she expected it, it doesn’t make it any easier to bear. But it’s too late now, the dam has been broken, her despair immeasurable and she cannot hold it in anymore.

“Why does everyone get to live their life, and I get to only put in the grave the people I care most about on this earth? This is mine now and I will not let anyone or anything take another thing from me, no matter what. You know damn well I mean it.”

Vision has never doubted Wanda, not even in the tender first days when they met. He knows, with the same certainty that he knows he still loves her, despite all of this, that she means it entirely. He’s not sure how to go about making sure she changes her mind.

“But all these people here, Wanda, they’re in… they’re in pain.”

“It’s not their pain, Vision! Do you think I’d be able to stand here, scrub tiles and wash clothes, give birth and smile pleasantly at every single person I see, if I had to carry all there is in me? They’re cracking under _my_ grief!”

Her fingers crackle with the power, tension taut in her body. Vision’s hand finds hers, tender and gentle as he lifts it to his mouth, kissing her palm, her knuckles. He remembers all those barely-moving figures, tears streaming down their face – tears they were spilling over the bottomless well of sadness inside his wife’s heart. He’s both the source and the ointment for the hurt, so he stays where he is, whispering sweet nothings against her skin, until she pulls herself back together long enough to not immediately need it.

“Wanda, you know, too, that this is wrong.”

He drops his forehead against hers, it’s the closest they came to an embrace since their silent mind war started, two episodes before.

“It sure doesn’t feel wrong, Vis,” she sighs, and she nuzzles her face at the crook of his neck, so much comfort in being held, now that he knows what he tries to comfort her over. He is warm against her and he is alive and for her, this is all that matters. She has him, and they have the family they built. She looks at him, determination so strong on her face.

“You told me once to run away with you. That’s what I’m doing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I also have [a twitter](https://twitter.com/pathofcomets) where where you can reach me, and where I rant about the whole writing process, post snippets from time to time and you can see what else I work on!


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